Cardington Crescent - Anne Perry [68]
She was sitting in the nursery in the silence and the sun. It was so bright it dazzled her. She felt a little dizzy and the chair was suddenly very hard under her. It seemed to be tilting. This was ridiculous, she must not faint! She was alone here with him, out of hearing of everyone. If he killed her here it could be days before anyone found her—weeks! Not till a maid came again to do a little perfunctory dusting. They would think she had run away—admitting her guilt.
“Emily, are you all right?” His voice sounded anxious. She felt his hand warm on her arm, very strong, tight.
She wanted to pull away violently. A sweat of terror broke out on her skin, wetting the black cloth of her dress and trickling cold down her back. If she tore away from him he would know she was afraid, and he would know why. She would not be able to get up and run away before he could catch her. It was possible she would reach the door behind him, and race along the passage to the steep stairs. It would be so easy to push her, a headlong fall. She could already see her own crumpled body at the foot, hear his voice with the explanation. So simple, so sorry. Another tragic accident—she was beside herself with grief and guilt.
There was only one way: pretend innocence, convince him she had no suspicions, no ideas, no fear of him.
She swallowed hard and gritted her teeth. She forced herself to look up at him, meet his eyes without flinching, speak without biting her tongue or fumbling.
“Yes—yes, thank you. I just felt dizzy for a moment. It’s warmer in here than I expected.”
“I’ll open the window.” He stood up as he said it, reaching for the catch, and lifted the heavy sash. That was it! A fall out of the window! They were three stories up; she would hit the hard walk outside once and that would be the end. Who would hear her if she screamed? No one, up here. That was precisely why it was the nursery, so the cries of the children should not disturb anyone. But if she stayed seated he would find her hard to pick up, a deadweight. It was a little, a very little, but there was nothing she could do but take it a step at a time, searching for the next one.
“Yes. Yes, perhaps that would help,” she agreed.
He turned round, facing her, silhouetted against the sun and the blue dazzle of the leaves and the sky through the window. He walked over and leaned forward a little, taking her hand. He was warm, and she felt with a shudder how strong. She could not possibly get out of the chair now. He was standing almost above her, imprisoning her.
“Emily?” He looked at her face—in fact, he was staring. “Emily, are you afraid of them?”
She was so frightened her body ached and the sweat ran down her back and between her breasts.
“Afraid?” She feigned innocence, trying to look as though she were not sure what he meant.
“Don’t pretend with me.” He was still holding her hand. “Eustace and that fearful old woman are hell-bent on having you blamed for murder. But that’s only so they can get the matter hushed up and the police out of the house. Surely Pitt knows that. Isn’t he your brother-in-law? And I have the opinion that your sister will not let any accusations against you go by without doing her best to tear them to bits, let the pieces fall where they may.”
Did he have any idea what she was thinking? Could he smell her fear? Surely he would know it was immediate and physical, nothing so remote as the Marches’ suspicions. It was an obvious, compelling step from that to the knowledge that she thought he had killed George, and why.
“I find it very uncomfortable,” she said with a dry little swallow, her face hot. “Of course, it isn’t pleasant to have people, even someone like Mrs. March, imagine such a thing of you. But I know it’s because she’s afraid for her own.”
“Her own?” He sounded surprised, but she did not look at him.
“I think it would be better if I did not discuss it,” she said quietly. “But there are certain things ... in the family—”
“Who? Tassie?” There was disbelief in his voice now.
“Really, Mr. Radley, I would very much rather